Salt and Ash
by On the Darker Side
Summary: Months after his departure, Chloe goes to his penthouse in search of relief from the grief of his absence. After venting her anguish, she's surprised by a solid warmth encompassing her shaken frame, and finally gets the relief she was seeking. Set after 4x10. Rated M for SMUT. TRIGGER WARNING: blood and unintentional self-harm.


**A/N:** Hey guys, a one-shot... I know... It's been a while, and I have to say I've missed it. I hope you guys like this one. I struggled with the ending, but I hope it reads well for you all. There's two songs that I recommend as mood-setters for this fic. I've put the titles below, so hopefully you'll be able to find them on YouTube... you should. I have to thank my dear friend x-Luniana-x for the music. She's turned me on to that genre (of sorts) and I appreciate the enlightenment. Also, un-beta'd and not proof-read AT ALL. haha. So, sorry!

**Epic Cover|Hidden Citizens – Paint it Black**

**Epic Rock|The Spiritual Machines – Don't Fear the Reaper**

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**Salt and Ash**

Months had gone by, and unlike the cliché saying, it had not made things easier. Sure, there had been times when Chloe had felt happiness again, but they were due solely to her daughter being an impossibly energizing ball of warmth and love. The other times; the work without him, the work surrounded by people questioning where he was, and the complete lack of inappropriate interrogation behavior made the days seem long and cold. Clinical.

She had forced herself from going towards Lux. Maze had promised it was all taken care of, and Chloe had been given leave to use the penthouse for whenever she needed a getaway. Her heart had clenched at that; as if he thought she could ever go to the empty bones of his life on Earth. When she found herself parking in front of the lavish building, her eyes and feet tired from a weary day, she wasn't sure why she was torturing herself. Maybe it still smelled like him, maybe she could relive the moment he had kissed her on the balcony. A kiss so sweet it couldn't have possibly been from anything other than an Angel.

The elevator ding echoed into the quiet apartment, and for a moment, she wished a few naked women would run past her, giggling, because then, at least, she would know he was there. She let her eyes wander the dark expanse of the penthouse, noting how everything was still there, nothing out of place. It wasn't much different from when he was there, sans a few empty glasses on multiple surfaces. What was different was the atmosphere. There was no warmth in the air, no lingering divinity of a life even Heaven couldn't contain. She quickly realized that even this place, his place, was just as lifeless as the rest of her surroundings without him. Places and things didn't make Lucifer; _he _gave those things life. He made them his.

Instead of the inkling of relief she had hoped to find, the pain and anguish of missing him turned to a simmering rage. Emptiness. This is what he left her with? After going through everything they did: finding out, betrayal, compromise, and finally, acceptance, this is what she had to deal with? She knew it was selfish to think only of herself, it wasn't like he was enjoying himself down in the pits of eternal damnation, but he left her this time. Deep down she knew why, and understood it, but grief and heartache overrode any practical thought she could have. He made her feel, she put her heart on her sleeve, and he kissed it tenderly before dropping it. Vanished. Gone with the wind, literally.

The anger starting to boil, she looked around the penthouse at the total perfection he left behind. With tears straining to fall, she wandered closer to his beloved bar, liquor in bottles, crystal waiting to be used, as if he had just put his infinite life on pause. That thought stung. Was that what he was doing? Waiting time out in Hell, waiting for all the people he supposedly cared about to grow old and die so that he could come back up without guilt of releasing evil on the world? It was easy for him, to just vacate this realm of existence and come back when there was nothing around to care about. She was the lock on his prison cell, and her death would be his release.

Hate started to pool in her forgotten soul and she reached out for one of the immaculate tumblers sitting behind the bar. She held it up, let the dim light reflect off the perfect chisels and curves, before launching it over the bar to break against the shiny marble. The crash and trickle of broken glass was soothing in the deafening silence, so she did it again, and again, until six crystal glasses were glittered across the floor. It was cathartic, to destroy the perfection he left behind. It was as if she was showing him it wasn't. He didn't leave her unbroken; he left her shattered. She wanted more. She grabbed another glass and walked around the bar, towards the whitish circles of dusted glass and stared. She could feel the crunching beneath her boots, and instead of throwing, she followed the glass and slammed it into the ground, feeling it crumble and break under her hand. Like a final blow, a sob wrecked through her body as her other hand braced down onto the littered marble, falling to her knees.

She hated that she felt this weak, hated that anyone had this much control over her emotions, the actual Devil, no less. "I'm not supposed to care this much," she mumbled to herself, the weight on her hands signaled the shards of glass to start to cut into her flesh. For a moment she thought to back away from the discomfort, but the sharp warmth radiated into her heart, and it was something to hold on to. "I'm not supposed to love you," she breathed out, barely above a whisper. She wanted to cry, but more and more anger started to build, and she needed a long over-due release.

Chloe finally allowed herself to scream, yelling and cursing him farther down in his Hell, hoping he felt just as bad as she did. She barely felt the sting and throb of her hands, broken bits of glass glittering in the dim light, reflecting the red from her blood dripping on the floor. Running her hands over the sparkling marble, she smeared her pain to tarnish the image of perfection in her mind. Tears fell and stung her wounds, but she couldn't stop fisting the glass, tearing her palms just to feel more than the total emptiness in her heart. It hurt, and that was so much better than feeling nearly dead.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," she chanted, barely audible as a fresh wave of uncontrollable sobs heaved her frame on her knees. She cried, loudly and deeply, her face buried in her knees, surrounded by broken glass representing the millions of tears she'd cried for him. "Do you hear me? I hate you!" she yelled, staring down at the floor as if she could send her words to Hell with him. She continued to chant her anger and hate, even as the unmistakable feeling of strong arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her up and pressing her back against a firm chest. It couldn't be, there was no way he was there. She continued to fight the very idea, even as her hands were no longer buried in the shimmering ruins of her anguish.

She turned in the impossible embrace, even as tearful, wet kisses were planted along the back of her neck and head. She stared up at what couldn't possibly be him, eyes wide with confusion and hope, her bloody hands bracing herself on his chest. Brown eyes, rimmed in red and teary, stared back at her in concern as warm hands covered hers on his chest, staining the white of his shirt. He carefully brought her hands up to his lips, and kissed at her broken skin with a reverence that ate at her soul. He whispered into her hands between kisses, inaudibly, and she could see that his eyelashes were wet and slightly clumped together. He had been crying. He, the Devil, the Bringer of Sin upon Humanity, had been crying. She continued to watch him worship her bleeding hands, slowly rocking on his knees, and she could see he was not his usual pristine self. He was still in the clothes he left in, without his jacket, and his white shirt was now a more greyish, sooty hue. His hair was in disarray, his stubble less groomed, and his skin less bright. There were obvious bags under his eyes, and she had never seen him actually look this worn down.

With a shaky breath, he looked up, lips and chin smeared with her blood, cheeks streaked with tears. He looked just as broken as she did. He wouldn't look her in the eyes, he kept his trained on her hands, carefully picking at pieces of glass caught in her cuts. His lips were parted and a drop of blood clinging to his lower lip finally fell onto his shirt as he ensured he cleared her palms of debris. "I'm so sorry, Chloe. I'm so sorry," he finally said, fresh tears welling in his eyes as he finally looked up at her. She saw pain and sorrow in those cool brown eyes, and she regretted everything she had said in an instant.

"Did you hear me?" she asked cautiously, her voice low as to not break from worry. She was no longer crying, but she attributed that to the shock of him being there. Maybe he wasn't really there. Perhaps he was just a figment of her imagination; a construct of her self-preservation instinct fabricated to stop her from doing further damage to her body. If so, she didn't care. He felt real, and she was going to take it in for as long as she could.

"I always hear you," he answered, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. His thumbs mindlessly circled around the tops of her hands, lubricated by a viscous warmth. "All those times, I thought it wasn't real, that Hell was making me hear you," he admitted, his brows furrowing as if he were remembering the feeling of going mad. "But this time, you sounded… I just had to make sure you were safe." He swallowed hard before opening his eyes to her. When he did, a single tear fell down his cheek, getting lost in the forest of his unkempt stubble. He looked utterly destroyed, and it was her turn to feel guilt and shame.

"I don't hate you," she assured him, pressing her knees against his as they kneeled before each other. He was still holding her hands up close to his chest and she could feel his shaky, warm breath against her skin. "I don't hate you." This time she barely exhaled the words as she leaned forward, closing the distance as she pressed her mouth to his. Her senses were flooded with the taste of blood and smell of him, and she couldn't bring herself to pull away from it.

He broke the kiss with a heavy breath, pressing his forehead into hers as he dropped her hands to cup her face. "It's okay, I know," he whispered, licking his stained lips and moaning softly at the taste. He shouldn't enjoy it, but it was her, and tasting her, in any sense, warmed him to the core. His eyes darted to her mouth and her lips were splotched with red, as well. He bent his head back down and claimed her mouth with all the desperation he had. They sighed into each other, filling their lungs with the exchange of grief and anguish, a push and pull of sorrow. "I'm so sorry," he breathed his apology against her lips, lowering his hands to her waist and pulling her into his lap. Her legs effortlessly wound around his hips, her feet resting near his beneath him. He wrapped his arms around her as his tongue slid past her lips and a smoky metallic taste coated her mouth.

She raked her sore fingers through his hair, her sticky palms tugging at the dark strands before drifting down to grasp each side of his face. His stubble dug into her wounds as a sharp reminder that he was actually there. She gripped his jaw harder, whimpering into his mouth as the pain melted into a warming comfort of his presence. He squeezed his arms around her tighter, leaning back on his heels before adjusting to stand with her in his hold. "I missed you so much," she exhaled softly along his jaw, crossing her ankles on his lower back as he moved them through the apartment. It was effortlessly graceful, nothing less of what she had come to expect from him. When he reached his long-cold bed, he turned to sit on the stiffened mattress, keeping her in his lap. Chloe rolled her hips forward to bring her body closer to his and he moaned along the side of her throat.

His hands danced along the hem of her shirt before he lifted the material up her torso. They broke apart long enough for him to divest her of the thin fabric before he bit down on the top of her shoulder gently. She gasped as his teeth caught on her bra strap, tugging the elastic slightly and letting it slap back against her skin with a delicate pop. She inhaled sharply and he looked directly at her, eye to eye, to capture her attention. "I don't know of any word, in any language, to describe how much I've missed your radiant presence in my damned one." The rims of his eyes started to fill and he leaned forward to kiss her before any tears fell, pushing them farther back onto the bed.

Chloe took the opportunity to press her hands to his chest, shoving him down to the bed. She remained upright, straddling his hips, fingers digging into his chest through his shirt. She only stopped to take a breath before she attacked the buttons of his stained shirt. He tried to stop her, carefully pushing her freshly bleeding away, but she wouldn't allow it. She shoved his hands down to the bed with intent in her eyes, gritting her teeth. "I don't care," she nearly whimpered, struggling with the last button before splaying the shirt and revealing him to her.

She hardly ever seen him look anything less than perfect. The few times fighting with his brother, or when he got hurt with her around, all had healed without so much as a blemish. However, it appeared anything Hell-forged could harm him, and leave a lasting mark. Her brows knitted together as she gazed over his torso, looking at the scars, some old and some new. Her hand shakily reached out and she brushed her fingertips, feather-light, over a patch of fresh edema by his ribs. At the touch, Lucifer sat up abruptly, grasping the back of her neck with one hand, the other held on to her wrist near his side. "It doesn't matter," he whispered against her lips, pulling her bottom lip into his mouth. He hummed around her plump lip as she let her head fall back, exposing the smooth lines of her neck and chest. His mouth traveled down hungrily while his hands unclasped her bra and tossed the offending material away. Without missing a beat, both of his large hands cupped her breasts, pushing the mounds up so he could bury his mouth between the swells.

She groaned when his tongue lathed a nipple, his desperate panting breaths, hot and wet against her skin, teased the sensitive skin around her chest. Her tacky, rough hands worked to push his shirt over his shoulders, and his touch left her skin only long enough to shake his arms free of the sleeves. She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and arched into him, pressing their bodies together as close as she could. He reacted by thrusting up against her, eliciting a breathy moan from both of them. It was all so much, but she needed so much more. She moved her arms to reach down between them, fumbling with his belt. Their proximity made it awkward to try to unclasp the metal, so he carefully turned them over, pressing her into the mattress and quickly kissing down her body.

When he made it to her hips, he was kneeling on the ground, and his deft hands started working her jeans and underwear down her slim legs. He roughly pulled her boots and socks off before finally taking her pants off fully. Pressing his lips to her inner thigh, he stood just enough to divest himself of his remaining attire before sinking back down to his knees and grabbing her hips in his hands. Staring directly at her slick, wet core, he leaned over the bed enough to let his tongue slide through her folds. She gasped towards the ceiling, her back arching off the bed as her hands fisted into the sheets by her sides. As if tasting her would be his downfall, his head fell to her hip as he controlled his breathing, huffing hot air against damp skin. Composing himself, he dove back in, tongue lapping at her essence like it were liquid gold.

His hands spread her thighs as he moaned into her slick heat, tongue darting at the entrance before dragging up to press flat against her clit. Chloe groaned, rolling her hips up towards his eager mouth, trying to get every inch of herself against his face. He continued to lick and drink her down, his cock impressively hard against his smooth sheets. He wasn't trying to make her cum, not yet. This was about steeping the taste of her on his tongue to remember and cherish throughout his infinite existence. He forced himself to kiss back up her body once he realized he was rutting into the bed. He needed to feel her stretch around him, to feel how deep she could take him.

When his lips brushed against her ribs, she shivered, even under the immense heat of his frame. He nestled his hips perfectly between her splayed thighs, and for the first time, felt his hot, thick length press into sensitive flesh. His breath caught in his throat while she bit her lip, unable to take their eyes off of each other. This was something he had wished to savor, to draw out as long as possible, but since circumstances had changed he couldn't bring himself to take his time. She didn't seem eager to let him deny her anymore and she brought one hand down between them to wrap around his cock. He groaned at the feel of her cold fingers around him as she lined him up with her entrance. Without wasting another second of their precious time, he thrust into her, quickly filling her up until he bottomed out, no more length to give her.

Her mouth opened in a surprised gasp and her thighs tightened around his hips at the sudden fullness. He stared at her, gaging her reaction before making another move. Once he saw the corners of her mouth curve up in the slightest smile, he pressed himself down on top of her, elbows above her shoulders, one hand cupping the top of her head. He groaned as he pulled out and slid inside once again, rutting his hips against hers to map-out the details of her channel with his cock. Her hands dug into his hair again, pulling and tugging at his strands which shot delicious strains of pain down into his balls and only urged him to keep moving. He was slow, methodical, powerful, in his thrusts, making sure that ever drag of his member inside her could be felt and locked away in their memories.

He had brought her close to orgasm with his mouth, and now that he was inside her, filling her up to the brim, she could feel that warm, tingling sensation start to creep inside her walls, her clit tingling, as well, with every thrust as his skin rubbed against it. The feeling was building so fast, she could feel it starting in her fingers and toes, making its way up her extremities and into the trunk of her body. She wanted to say something, prepare him for her body to explode, but no speech made it through her mind. All she could do was take the ride, grip his shoulders and dig her nails into his flesh, a meaty cliff to cling to in hopes to slow her fall. He seemed to take note of her state and he increased his pace minutely and captured her lips with his. When his mouth trailed down over her jaw and his teeth sunk into her neck, something in her body snapped and she was floating in an atmosphere of pure ecstasy.

She was brought back to herself with the caress of his breath from whispering sweet nothings against her shoulder. For a brief moment, it had all gone away. The memories of before, visions of his Devil face, the look of utter betrayal on his face when she returned from Europe. All the bad and good, and heartache from losing the good, had disappeared and all she had felt was serenity, bliss, and the unmistakable weight on top of her. If that was all he could give her, that one shining moment, she would be forever grateful. The moment ended all too soon, and the memories of his leaving and her emptiness the last several months flooded her head, and all she could think about was breathing. She made a move to roll them over, and Lucifer followed her lead, gently pulling her on top of his lap as he laid back against the sheets, warm from her skin.

He propped himself up on his elbows, staring up at the beauty he was still sheathed inside of, but instead of seeing satisfaction in her eyes, he found fresh tears waiting to spill. He looked at her quizzically before opening his mouth to speak, but was forced silent by the surprise of her arm reaching out. Her small hand gripped his throat, directly below his jaw, and a strangled moan rumbled from deep within his chest. His eyes went wide as he stared at her, desperately waiting. "Tell me you'll come back again," she demanded, a single tear sliding down her flushed cheek. She watched him close his eyes, and she would not allow that. He didn't get to hide. She squeezed his throat as hard as she could, her wounds tearing deeper and longer as fresh blood stained along his neck under her hand. "Look at me and tell me." Her voice was quieter, but no less commanding. Her grip forced his eyes open, and she could feel his labored breathing beneath her grasp. He would do anything for her, he'd risk angering the bowels of Hell even more just for a moment with her. He'd tear his own chest open, cracking his ribcage, just to rip his heart out and lay it before her as an offering of his devotion. He'd open every artery to bleed himself dry just so she could bathe in the ichor and his immortal soul.

She kept her strong grip on his throat as she started to move above him. Getting him to make those noises pulled a power out of her she didn't know she had. She wanted to keep getting those sounds out of him, and she really wanted his answer. Her free hand moved up towards his mouth, an encrusted finger tracing over his lips, noticing her blood had seeped into the creases. He opened his mouth and she slid her finger inside, his tongue sliding along the digit, never sucking, just bathing it clean. She watched as he tried to lay back flat, shaky under her ministrations on him, but she pulled his throat up, forcing him to prop up with his hands behind his back. She had him where she wanted him, where he wanted to be for her. "Tell me you'll visit me." She slid her finger along his tongue one last time before tugging down his bottom lip and dragging it down his chin.

"It'll never be for very long," he told her truthfully, his eyes half-closed and his jaw clenching with each roll of her hips. She could feel him swelling inside her, getting so close to his release, and that blissful feeling was starting to return. She released his throat and he fell back on to the bed in relief, lifting his head up to look at her and holding he hips firmly in his grasp. She could feel his upward thrusts, and she only had to seal the deal with him before she would let him fall over.

"But you will come," she started, pressing her hands into the firm muscles of his chest, letting their hips do all the work. "You'll come see me when you can." It was more a statement than a question, she realized. She wanted a promise from him, because he never broke those.

He stared at her for a moment, somehow able to piece together what she was doing through the thick haze of arousal and pleasure coursing through his immortal body. "Yes, I promise," he groaned, biting his lip while his head fell back onto the bed. He promised, and she would expect him to keep his word, and for her, he would fight every damned demon in that Pit to get to her. She watched as his back arched slightly, and she was satisfied with his answer; satisfied with the deal they had made.

She rocked her hips over him a few more times, pushing herself down on his length as hard as she could, and that's when the taught chord of his loins finally broke and he started to empty himself inside her with a thunderous growl. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her down on to him as he rolled his hips under her, chasing the final spasms of his climax as far as he could. He panted heavily as he attempted to still his movements, hips jerking slightly at the sensation of her walls clenching around him. Chloe's face was against his chest, and she kissed the skin she could reach, tasting salt and ash along firm curves of muscle.

They stayed like that for several minutes, unspeaking, trying to keep the sounds of their thoughts down and to themselves. She was faintly aware of his hands tracing circles on the skin of her back while one of her hands rested near his neck, the other gripped his shoulder. Suddenly, and with a startled yelp, Lucifer turned them over, so they were facing each other on their sides, their hands entwined between their chests. "I don't want to be there," he started, staring deep into her blue eyes, clearly intent on making his point. "I don't want to do this to you," he expressed, his voice breaking slightly as he gently shook her blood-stained, wounded hands. His dark eyes welled with tears and he exhaled forcefully to keep them contained. He didn't deserve to hurt; he was the one that left.

She leaned forward enough to kiss the larger hand holding hers so delicately, pulling him in closer and throwing a leg over his hip. She took in the sight before her: the beautiful Devil, a fallen Angel, crying for a mortal during his brief reprieve from self-imprisonment, and tried to not feel overwhelmed by it. Seeing him hurt always tugged at her emotions in the most brutal ways, and she couldn't stop the tears that glittered her cheeks. "Hey," she whispered, getting his attention and waiting until he looked back at her, the pain clearly written on his features. "I'll be okay," she assured him, and it was supposed to be comforting, but muffled sobs broke out between them as he softly pressed his lips to hers.

He stayed until she fell asleep, an unspoken request that he was more than willing to fulfill. He had reluctantly pulled himself from her hold as gently as possible and covered her with the blankets on the bed, moving a stray lock of hair off her face before getting dressed. He picked out fresh clothes, still smelling like the launders even after months of being in a garment bag in his closet. He quietly cleaned the glass off of the floor as best he could, and it felt as if he were stalling his return. When everything was taken care of and all he had to do was let himself fall back down, he could stop staring at her, sleeping in his bed, a golden halo framing her face. Her tattered hands peeked out from under the sheets, and he couldn't stop the wave of guilt from washing over him.

Rolling his wings out, Lucifer plucked two smaller, soft feathers, placing one in each of her palms and gently closed her hands over blinding white. He watched as her skin invisibly stitched back together, completely healed. He sighed with relief, knowing she wouldn't have to hurt that way for him. He bent down and kissed her temple, lingering for longer than he anticipated, before he left her realm and returned to his obligation down below.

Chloe woke in the morning alone in the bed, as she knew she would. The sting of that hurt less than it had the last time, and she held on to the hope that he would be back for her, eventually. Instinctively, she sat up in the bed, and only looked down when she did so without pain. She looked down at her hands, dried blood cracking, but not signs of open cuts of sliced skin. Two white lines of feather quills sat in her hand, and she knew Lucifer had given them to her. She smiled lightly, noticing the barely-there pink and white scars on her hands that only she would notice. She regretted the thought of washing her hands as she got dressed because it was evidence of his visit. The soreness between her legs was welcomed, proof of their intimacy that she would savor for as long as it would last. She had told him she would be okay, and deep down she knew she would. Now, all she had to do was survive between his visits, and desperately wait for the next opportunity to be blessed with her Devil's presence.

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**A/N: **Oh... I know. The ending... not my best, but I hope the rest makes up for it. It's my second attempt in this angsty-smut genre that I've had fun. It's not the same severity, but I feel like the emotions presented in the finale of Season 4 lent to the atmosphere of this fic. I hope you enjoyed it. Please, let me know! I love hearing from you guys! Until next time, dark ones... ;P


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